


A Squire's Fall

by HiddenSecret



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Worship, Corruption, M/M, Oral Sex, Transformation, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenSecret/pseuds/HiddenSecret
Summary: Defeated and captured by the chattering hoard, Ato finds himself in a precious situation. Though he survived the pitched battle, a far more nefarious fate awaits him at the hands of the Skaven.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	A Squire's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Some Leech, check his other works on Fimfiction under the name "Some Leech"

Though Ato had considered himself fortunate for surviving the battle, despite the empire having suffered a terrible loss, he quickly came to wish he’d perished in the conflict. Lying on the battlefield, pinned beneath a dead horse, he’d been forced to listen to the dying moans of his comrades and kinsmen. He thought he had met his doom, when he saw a furred, armored behemoth loom over him, yet it was only the beginning of his torment.

Collared, stripped, and led away by the muscular storm vermin, he was marched from the battlefield and to the skaven camp. As if being paraded amongst the accursed beasts wasn’t bad enough, the smell was absolutely atrocious. Foetid beyond belief, the aroma of the unwashed creatures was nearly enough to make him wretch.

It was only after hours of walking was he finally given the chance to rest. Hauled into a tent, he was thrown to the ground before a horned abomination. He’d heard tales of grey seers, but he’d never been unfortunate enough to see one in person. The wizened creature unseated itself from a rickety throne and appraised him, before looking to the hulking warrior who’d captured him.

“Bloodwhisker wishes this man-thing to be his slave-vassal?” it asked, prompting the storm vermin to kneel.

“Yes, lord Gnawlk,” Bloodwisker murmured, keeping his head held low.

“Guards,” the grey seer blared, “restrain-hold the man-thing.”

In the blink of an eye, a pair armed and armored soldiers burst into the room. One of the troops pinned Ato’s legs, while the other wrenched his arms above his head. Even if he had his weaponry, there would have been little he could do. The beasts were nearly double his size and covered in sinewy muscle.

In a panic, his eyes flew across the room. Everyone stood motionless, except for Gnawlk. The lanky creature rummaged about in a trunk and retrieved a flask of thick, luminous liquid. He couldn’t be sure, but the vivid green left him with a sinking feeling that warpstone was a component in the foul elixir. As the haggard skaven knelt by his side and put the phial to his lips, he scowled.

“I’ll never - Glk?!?” his protest was cut woefully short, as the bottle was crammed into his mouth.

Reflexively gasping, he unintentionally swallowed the vile concoction. As the remainder of the potion was poured into his coughing mouth, the grey seer clamped his jaws shut. Unable to spit, nearly choking on the stuff, he unwillingly gulped down the remnants. Whatever it was, it tasted absolutely putrid.

“There,” Gnawlk groused, casually tossing the emptied flask over his shoulder and turning to face the kneeling soldier, “should only take one night-moon to work. If you weren’t such a brutal-viscious champion, I would have your depraved-lecherous head on a pike.”

“It is my honor-duty to serve,” Bloodwhisker intoned. Getting to his feet, without saying another word, he ruthlessly pulled upon Ato’s chain and stormed out of the tent.

Trailing behind his captor, the captive stayed close to the immense storm vermin. Given the hateful stares and jeers from the other skaven in the camp, he felt some modicum of safety near his kidnapper. The brute hadn’t seen fit to kill him, though he didn’t dare presume that the other monsters would be as forgiving. Dragged into a yurt, the imposing warrior turned to face him.

“Don’t move-budge,” the behemoth hissed, reaching out and removing the young man’s collar.

Ato nodded and gulped, standing rigid. Even if he could escape, he’d likely be cut down before he even reached the edge of the encampment. Buck naked, without anything to defend himself, and surrounded by hundreds of murderous, chaos tainted creatures, death lurked around every corner. The beast stooped low and grabbed a wrought iron choker from the ground, before he was swiftly affixed with the heavy band of metal.

“Will return,” Bloodwhisker muttered, loping past his guest. Moving to the exit, he glanced over his shoulder at the lad. “If you try to escape, you’ll pray for dead-dead,” he whispered, slipping from view and leaving his prisoner chained to the bed.

Left to his own devices, the former squire took stock of his situation. If nothing else, he had survived a pitched conflict and may yet be able to reclaim his freedom. The skaven may not be aware of it, but sooner or later they would be facing imperial forces once again. So long as he could stay alive, he could use his time to learn of his captors and any potential weaknesses.

The barest smile greeted his lips, despite the rather dour circumstances, until a searing pain coursed through him. Clutching his gut, he toppled forward and slumped over to his side. The sensation was ineffable, as what felt like fire coursed through his veins. Writhing on the floor, overcome with agony, he was unable to scream. His vision tunneled, there was an odd ringing in his ears, and the world closed in around him; robbed of every sense but the torment wracking him, he lost consciousness.

While he couldn’t say how long he’d been out, he knew it had to have been several hours. Although ruinous pain was mercifully gone, it didn’t take him long to realize that something was dreadfully amiss. The confines of the tent seemed relatively dark, leading him to believe it was either late evening or early in the night, though that wasn’t what led to his worry - no, without a single candle or lantern present, he could see everything exceptionally well.

Gradually, as his wits returned, his senses started to assault him. Sounds were amplified to an insane degree, allowing him to hear the faintest breeze or the hushed chittering of skaven in the distance with crystal clarity. Reaching for his head, his fingers grazed one long, leathery ear; on instinct, he thrust his hands before himself and froze.

Gone were the extremities he’d once had, replaced by slender, clawed digits of some monstrosity. In a panic, he shot to his feet and scanned the room a second time. Though there weren’t any mirrors in the small structure, he had spied a large silver platter amongst a heap of what had to be pillaged goods. Grabbing the tray and holding it before himself, ice ran through his veins.

Peering back at him was the reflection of a slender skaven lad. Svelte and covered in thin white hair, his body had been transformed into one of the fel beasts who waged war against his kingdom. Sinking to his knees, he buried his elongated face in his hands and shook his head. If it wasn’t some insane nightmare, there was no way he’d ever be able to return home; even if he could liberate himself from the enemy, the Inquisition would cut him down without a second thought.

Screwing his eyes closed, trying desperately to hold back the tears, he sniffled and whimpered to himself - that was, until the most ambrosial perfume struck him. The malodorous smell of his surroundings had simply vanished - replaced by something altogether enchanting. Closing his eyes, blindly turning his head towards the source of the captivating scent, he inhaled through his nose.

Led by the aroma alone, he slowly drifted across the room. As his shin bumped against a hard, wooden surface, he paused. Lying on his back and staring up at him, atop a ramshackle mattress, was Bloodwhisker himself. The brute was bereft of any clothing or armor, save for a tattered loincloth, leaving his imposing and supremely chiseled physique on full display. As their eyes met, the brawny champion’s muzzle split in a twisted grin.

“Is this what you smell-want?” the warrior asked, nonchalantly fanning his loins with the shabby piece of leather.

Opening his mouth to protest, Ato’s sinuses were assailed by the heavenly fragrance. The redolence was mind boggling, sending shivers up his spine and making him feel weak in the knees. Compelled, curious about what sort of thing could produce such a divine bouquet, his gaze wandered over the beast’s heavy pecs, down the sculpted set of abs, and ultimately to the creature’s groin.

The fleeting glimpses of Bloodwhisker’s package sent his heart fluttering. Even soft, the log of rat meat could easily dwarf even the largest human’s equipment. His mouth watered and his nose twitched, as his arousal got the better of him. As he stared down at his captor’s cock, the sound of a throaty chuckle shook him from his stupor.

“You may,” the fiend growled, splaying his legs and tugging the loincloth away from his waist.

Ato gulped, finding himself at an impasse. Part of him found the concept beyond repulsive, wishing for nothing more than to plunge a blade into the beast’s heart, yet another, far more beguiling portion of himself urged him to relent and to worship the handsome, magnificent creature before him. With his mind racing, his body made the decision for him; reluctantly, he leaned forward and brought his snout to the skaven’s crotch.

The closer he got, the stronger the musk became - the stronger the musk became, the quicker his willpower fled from him. It was, in a very real sense, a siren’s song and he was losing the battle against it. As his nose pressed against the course, sweaty fur covering Bloodwhisker’s ripe, pendulous nuts, his composure crumbled to ash. Glueing his eyes shut, he dragged his tongue over the fat balls of the storm vermin.

The salty, unwashed flavor of his captor’s package rent his human dignity asunder, leaving him little more than a lust-addled savage. Kissing and licking the hardening log of flesh, realizing his master was pleased with his efforts, his pride soared. Sinking into a deep squat, he fully committed himself to the task at hand.

“Yes-yes,” Bloodwhisker hummed, affectionately reaching out and stroking the effeminate skaven’s head. “Indulge, mate-slave, and praise your lord.”

Pulling away, Ato excitedly nodded up at the titan. The kind words soothed his soul and inspired him to continue - still, even if his master was pleased with him, it would be unthinkable not to ask for permission. Fidgeting uncomfortably, he nervously played with his hands and bowed his head.

“Master, m...may I?” he timidly asked, his whiskers twitching to either side of his elongated face.

“Indulge,” the champion purred, easing his hands behind his head. Making himself comfortable, he watched the feminine skaven crawl onto the bed and between his legs.

Burying his muzzle in the musky nexus between Bloodwhisker’s mammoth dick and succulent nuts, Ato lavished his liege with affection. His only concerns were of pleasing his master, yet he couldn’t help himself from partaking in the debauchery. Reaching back behind himself, he kneaded his taut pucker. Though he was vaguely aware of his newfound tail lazily swaying over his wrist and forearm, his sole focus was on the colossus before him.

With his body transformed, his mind quickly followed suit. His priorities shifted, as did his allegiances, while he worshipped the massive skaven. Thoughts of his family, friends, and fellow soldiers felt like some long-lost memory, vestiges of a fleeting past. As he arched his back and slipped the rounded tip of vascular rat cock into his toothy maw, the final pieces fell into place.

This is where he belonged, servicing a superior being and submitting himself for the pleasure of his betters. He was a servant, a lowly outlet for the carnal urges of his clan, and he adored his rank. If being subjugated by the endless tides of skaven warriors and warpsmiths was to be his fate, he embraced it with open arms.

“Enough,” Bloodwhisker growled, drawing the small vermin’s attention. As his concubine pulled back, leaving a glimmering strand of saliva and pre-cum connecting them, he pointed to his engorged shaft. “Mate-breed, now.”

“Y...yes, my Master,” Ato stammered, obediently climbing atop the warrior’s body.

Dragging himself over the giant, feeling the hot shaft beneath him creeping towards his groin, he steadily straddled his owner. Rocking back, he reached back and guided the meaty pillar to his entrance. As Bloodwhisker’s glans pressed against his entrance, sparks of excitement surged through him.

Gritting his teeth, he bore down on the immense appendage. Discomfort or not, he would not fail his task. Perhaps to offer him some inspiration, or possibly because it simply pleased the champion, the storm vermin tweaked and twisted his delicate pink nipples. The sensation of pleasure mingled with the intense pressure upon his backdoor, spurring him to rock back. In the moment he was penetrated, he was undone; from that moment forward, he was and always would be a member of the chittering hoard.


End file.
